CHOICE TABLES; Where Irish Food Surprises

IRISH food has gotten a bad name for itself -- undeservedly. It is hard to explain how a land whose lush pastures nourish dairy and beef herds, whose kitchen gardens and orchards yield sweet strawberries and herbs, whose moors pullulate with lambs and game, and whose cold, clean waters brim with seafood gained a reputation for overboiled cabbage, overdone meat, potatoes with everything.

But a new generation of chefs is restoring the nation's culinary honor. Whereas only a few years ago the better cooks confined themselves almost exclusively to country-house hotels, today Dublin's increasing prominence as a financial center enables it to support some remarkably distinguished restaurants. If their menus have Continental embellishments, each of these three has a character as particular to Dublin as a pint of hand-drawn Guinness. The Commons Restaurant

The most conspicuous newcomer to the Dublin restaurant scene, the three-and-a-half-year-old Commons Restaurant, occupies the basement of two elegant 18th-century houses on the south side of St. Stephen's Green.

Collectively, the buildings are known as Newman House, for it was under their sumptuous plasterwork that the writer and theologian John Henry Newman gave substance to his "Idea of a University," serving as the first rector of the Catholic University of Ireland, the institution that grew into University College Dublin. The poet Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote and taught there in the 1880's, and James Joyce, a student of philosophy and English there at the turn of the century, set part of "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man" in its rooms.

No wonder Michael Fitzgerald pressed for the opportunity to open a restaurant in what until the late 1950's had served as the student canteen. He spent 15 months supervising the remodeling of the basement and the garden behind. The result is a discreet, consistent and stylish haven, more home to corporate pinstripes than student jeans.

The restaurant seats only 40 at generously spaced round tables, each covered with not one but two beige tablecloths. A spectacular flower arrangement occupies a central slate table framed by a pair of columns, but attention shifts to the collection of paintings on Joycean themes specially commissioned from local artists by Mr. Fitzgerald, who revels in pointing out Louis Le Brocquy's striking "Image of James Joyce."

The food is as imposing as the setting, with fixed-price menus changing daily. The head chef, Michael Bolster, a native of County Cork who trained in Britain, delights in juxtaposing Irish products with French delicacies, pairing, say, lobster mousse with braised Puy lentils and black pudding with foie gras.

We opted for savory duck confit, its unctuousness cut with muscat grapes and beets, and a warm parsnip and caramel timbale, which all by itself redeems the reputation of that maligned vegetable.

Mr. Bolster's seafood, much of it purchased direct from small cooperatives on the south coast, is prepared with split-second precision, witness the firm-fleshed John Dory on which I lunched recently. Its chive-strewn white-butter sauce was at once light and sassy, providing an urbane foil to the accompanying colcannon, a classic Irish melange of cabbage and potato, here whipped to a fluff. Lamb with sun-dried tomatoes arrived pink as requested; it was so good that my guest yearned for a more generous helping. The side vegetables played textural counterpoint, crisp broccoli contrasting with well seasoned carrot puree, new potatoes alongside saffron-tinctured duchesse potatoes.

Desserts are modern readings of classics, artfully presented. Who can resist a sinful chocolate roulade filled with white chocolate mousse or fragrant warm apple strudel accompanied by cinnamon cream? At dinner a cheese board laden with half a dozen of Ireland's finest poses a dilemma. How does one choose between mild Cashel Blue, Camembert-like St. Killian, or washed-rind Milleens -- all in tip-top condition? Slivers of each are essential to any cheese-lover's education, or so we discovered.

Wines, too, are up to the mark, with a long, well balanced list. Having decided to drink wine in a country where the (very high) taxes on alcohol are based on volume rather than value, one might as well drink better vintages. At The Commons a pleasant 1993 Sancerre runs $32, whereas twice that buys an outstanding 1991 Condrieu.

The Commons has lived up to University College Dublin's motto, "ad astra," "to the stars," at least partially by winning a first Michelin star last spring. The chef who garnered that honor has moved on, but Michael Bolster and his polished team of 9 chefs and a dozen waiters seem well equipped to maintain the standard. Roly's Bistro

Nearly two years ago, at the height of the recession in Ireland, a group of catering professionals opened a 150-seat "bistro" deep in Dublin 4, the home of Ireland's chattering classes. Against all the odds, Roly's Bistro, named for the restaurant's red-bearded greeter and mastermind, has been a near sellout ever since. Its recipe: a top-flight chef using the best materials, reasonable prices based on high turnover and an attractive, buzzy ambiance.

Colin O'Daly heads a staff of 24 chefs. This most resolutely Irish of chefs, locally trained, offers modern renditions of a broad variety of native dishes, changing his menus at least twice a month. Thus his fillet of beef may be accompanied by boxty; this medley of mashed and grated potatoes enriched with melted butter, originating in County Cavan, has supplanted gratin dauphinoise in my potato pantheon. Most of us recoil from the notion of blood sausage, but Mr. O'Daly's Clonakilty black pudding, sauced with sage-infused tomatoes, converts even the most squeamish to this country staple.

Mr. O'Daly also toys with exotic accents. His Dublin Bay prawns, perhaps more familiar to us as langoustines, come with beautiful saffron tagliatelle, and snappy cucumbers and fennel, and his lamb from the Wicklow Mountains just south of Dublin has the added tang of apricots and ginger.

We admired Mr. O'Daly's approach as we settled down to delicate warm scallop mousse sharpened with lemon balm and Colin's prawn bisque, a full-flavored yet light shellfish essence. Monkfish, sauced with nettles and hazelnuts, and a scallop of wild salmon, set off by the acid of both sorrel and spinach, were firm-flaked, their tastes fresh and defined.

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On advice, we opted for creme brulee. Lest regulars tire of its silken shimmer, Colin O'Daly regularly alternates its flavoring. On this evening he had added a hint of maple syrup and a dollop of crunchy walnut ice cream on the side. Desserts here tend toward schoolboy favorites such as queen of puddings -- bread pudding layered with red-fruit jam and crowned with meringue.

The relatively short wine list, revised monthly, runs mostly to European wines. The Chablis Premier Cru '90 from A. Regnard ($31.75) is an exceptional value.

Such good food naturally breeds good cheer, which is compounded by the surroundings: daffodil-colored walls, comfortable seating and eager clients. In spite of the high turnover, customers rarely feel pressured, thanks to a well-staggered reservation system and an alert young dining-room team. Locks

For atmosphere and choice food, Locks is hard to beat. Situated along the reedy Grand Canal, which marks the southern boundary of the Georgian part of the city, Locks exudes Irish charm with a rustic inflection that has endeared the place to Dubliners for the past 14 years. Theater people, in particular, seem to congregate here.

After ringing the doorbell, diners are shown in, as often as not by the Danish-born owner, Claire Douglas, who graciously seats them beside the bar. Over drinks they can peruse a menu and take in the neighboring 50-seat dining room. An eclectic feast of 19th- and 20th-century engravings and lithographs lines the cream walls, and hoop-backed Victorian chairs face old-rose-colored banquettes across white-napped tables arrayed on worn Oriental rugs.

The menu is at one with the decor: reassuring and homey, even if few homes can boast a chef as skilled as French-trained Brian Buckley. Succulent black pudding with onion sauce enriched with duck fat and lamb kidneys with mustard are almost always listed as starters, but Mr. Buckley's inventive grace notes include monkfish and prawns sparked with Thai curry sauce and pineapple or salmon with vermouth garnished with herby marinated tomatoes. Servings arrive on handsome old china, each elaborate pattern seemingly chosen to set off the preparation.

With supreme (if fleeting) disregard for American Heart Association guidelines, I tucked into a vast portion of salmon in pastry with rich caraway hollandaise and too soon found myself mopping the plate with the house soda bread.

Game is a delight at this time of year. Venison in a titillating raspberry vinegar and Dubonnet essence is generally offered, but Locks is a fine place to try less familiar widgeon (a small wild duck) or rare roasted tender young snipe or woodcock when they are available. My husband, Arthur, chose the rich game pie, an amalgam of hare, pigeon and pheasant, and found it wonderful.

"Rich" is an adjective that recurs when describing food at Locks. No stinting on butter and cream here. Such sophisticated comfort food suits Dublin's damp northern climate. Visitors who are less self-indulgent will find alternatives, for example, smoked salmon and grilled black sole. Don't be put off by the term "black sole"; it's known as Dover sole on the other side of the Irish Sea. At Locks it is cooked to flaky perfection.

For dessert I chose the comparative austerity of fruit salad with flavorful blackberry sorbet but couldn't resist a spoonful of my husband's gooseberry fool, a lush blend of tart fruit and sweet cream.

The relatively short wine list reveals the manager Brian Cornish's penchant for things French. The dry Jurancon Domaine Cauhape '92 ($30.30) was a happy revelation, as was the 1984 Chateau Lynch-Bages ($65.60) that incited us to linger over a superb Stilton, chatting contentedly and enjoying the lilt of our neighbors' conversations. Three local favorites

Unless otherwise noted, prices are for a three-course meal for two, with wine and tax. Service charges are automatically included as indicated. All three restaurants offer vegetarian choices.

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A version of this article appears in print on October 16, 1994, on Page 5005006 of the National edition with the headline: CHOICE TABLES; Where Irish Food Surprises. Order Reprints|Today's Paper|Subscribe